Never saw it coming
by pencil-othello
Summary: House had been looking for Wilson, and when he hadn't been at home there was really only one other place he could think to look. And he was right.


_"When I'm drunk in the morning,_

_I'm calling you._

_You might be lonely, lonely."_

It had, like so many other things, begun in a bar.

House had been looking for Wilson, and when he hadn't been at home there was really only one other place he could think to look. And he was right.

House saw him there with a bottle of whiskey in front of him. He was shaking, quite badly, and for once House decided to approach with caution. Had this been just another drunken weekend, he probably wouldn't have thought too much about it. Hell, he would have probably joined him!

But today was Tuesday, and House was getting the sinking feeling in his stomach, that something wasn't quite right. So he decided to tackle the problem from a direct angle.

"What the hell are you doing?" he'd said, his voice deep and hoarse.

But Wilson didn't respond. He just kept sitting there, numbly staring into his empty glass.

House waved a hand in front of his face, and while Wilson did suddenly look slightly less lost, he still didn't respond. The barman sent him an apologetic look.

"Sorry, he insisted I let him have the bottle. He's already paid and everything," the barman said and scratched his neck.

House sent him a deadpan look and mockingly said:

"Wow, well I guess everything's okay then!"

For some reason, Wilson suddenly came slightly more back to life. He whispered something, but House couldn't hear what it was.

"Come on." House whispered in a tone, uncharacteristically soft. He grabbed Wilson around the shoulder and, with some difficulty, got him on his feet. Luckily, Wilson seemed to have regained some more consciousness and stumbled out of the bar with his arm around House's shoulders. He whispered something again.

"House?"

His voice was tiny and labored, but now House was convinced that his best friend had at least not become a vegetable.

"Yeah, it's me buddy," he said. He wasn't sure why he was being so nice to Wilson. He reasoned that he would make fun of him tomorrow for this, but that right now he just needed to make sure he was all right.

Now outside the bar, House dragged them both to his motorcycle but then paused.

"Wilson, I'm gonna need you to hold on to me while we're driving, all right?" he said. House was relieved to see him nodding. To celebrate this miraculous regain of basic communication, House called him an idiot.

"You're an idiot, Wilson."

As they drove, he could feel Wilson clinging on, but tonight there was something unexplainably different about it. He wasn't sure what was going on. He just knew that Wilson had his arms around his waist and his head on his back and it felt oddly… nice. Sometimes, Wilson would put his mouth next to House's ear and whisper something. House could feel his breath on his ear, before the words got lost in the wind.

When they arrived at House's apartment, Wilson wouldn't let go of his waist.

"Wilson, we're here." House said. He was annoyed and a tiny bit confused and he really just wanted to go to sleep for the night.

"Let go," he attempted, but Wilson just buried his head deeper in the leather coat.

House rolled his eyes, and now yanked Wilson's hands from his waist. Wilson whimpered, and House almost couldn't believe it. He'd actually whimpered. House got off the moped, and helped Wilson on his feet, only to discover that Wilson had sobered up a bit.

"That was uncalled for," he said and rubbed his hands.

"You wouldn't let go," House said and smiled down at his friend.

Wilson suddenly looked immensely tired, and House chuckled. He didn't know why he was being so jolly today, but for once he didn't really mind. He started walking to the door, when he realized that Wilson just kept standing there.

"Are you gonna come in or not?" House inquired. Wilson was acting strange.

Wilson suddenly looked up at him with an intensity House had never seen before. And for once he didn't say anything. He just stood there. And Wilson walked up to him with the determination House only usually saw when Wilson was trying to convince him of something. Maybe that was it. He was trying to convince him of something.

This was all House could think, before he felt Wilsons hand on his face, cupping his cheek. He tried to say something, but it was as if his brain wouldn't let him. The determined look turned into a questioning one, and House assumed his eyes had been communicating something too. And Wilson kissed him.

It was unexpected to say the least, and House moaned involuntarily. And when Wilson opened his mouth and licked Houses lips, House moaned again. He couldn't think. He couldn't do anything, except kiss him back and to his own surprise, he let out a third moan and he could feel Wilson smile against his mouth. And when they parted, House looked more shocked than he'd ever done before, and it seemed as if Wilson suddenly realized that it was_ he_ who had the upper-hand for once.

He attacked Houses face again with another kiss, and House started kissing back with such eagerness, that Wilson almost fell down the stairs. And Wilson pushed him into the wall and felt House pull him closer, and with every new kiss, he was rewarded with a tiny moan.

When they parted, there was a look in House's eyes that Wilson had never seen before, and without a word (they weren't going to ruin this with _words_) House unlocked the door and pulled Wilson inside.

Once they were inside and had closed the door, Wilson carefully started buttoning down House's shirt. House didn't feel as if he was able to do anything but stare at Wilson. A tiny part of his brain was still his usual self, trying to determine what exactly was going on, but most of his thought process consisted of: _Oh my god, what's he unbuttoning me for what's going to happen now oh my god oh my god._

He didn't have to wait long for his answer though, and Wilson started nibbling his neck, before moving down to kiss his chest and stomach. House could do nothing but gasp and moan and Wilson seemed to be enjoying this new, silent, panting version of House.

He pushed him down unto the couch, and before long, his zipper was down as well, and Wilson was working his way further and further down.

House was now moaning and grunting and sweating. Just before he came, however, Wilson had unzipped his own pants.

It had hurt like hell at first, but before long, Wilson was hitting a spot and they were both thrusting and writhing, and panting and moaning, and sweating and cumming.

They'd fallen asleep on the couch, limbs entangled, blissfully trapped in a moment. Morning would have to wait.


End file.
